


Chills Every Time (you almost touch me)

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, Ghosts, Halloween, Inspired by K-Drama | Korean Drama, Magic, but i DID have fun writing it, i'm not gonna pretend this makes much sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: “What are you gonna do, tell him you see ghosts?”“I think she should.” Murphy grinned, appearing on the top shelf and looking down at them all.“Shut up, Murphy.”Clarke elbowed Wells and he dropped his hand. Bellamy was still standing in front of her, eyes narrowed, and she sighed. “Forget it.”Bellamy rolled his eyes and pushed past her on his way out of the freezer, apparently determined to be stuck in there with her a moment longer, but as the bare skin of his arm came into contact with her hand, an electric shock passed through her.Clarke has been able to see ghosts all her life, and at this point they're mostly a nuisance. Then she gets a job at a bar and immediately gets off on the wrong foot with her hot coworker. But maybe Bellamy Blake is the only one who can help her.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 43
Kudos: 185





	Chills Every Time (you almost touch me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pawprinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/gifts).



> My halloween gift for @pawprinterfanfic for thebellarkes server gift exchange - I hope you like it my love, I was so excited to get you in the draw and I really hope I ticked as many of your boxes as possible! Love ya <3
> 
> This is based on a k-drama that I *really* liked the concept of but didn't love the execution, and I decided to make it much shorter and also insert Wells and Murphy as my buddy movie self-inserts just cracking wise at their surroundings while being invisible to almost everyone. Quarantine hasn't affected me at all (she says sarcastically) anyway I hope y'all like it! 
> 
> title from Almost Touch Me by Maisy Kay (sent to me by my beloved wife Abby) this song SLAPS guys

_I can taste frustration on your breath_  
_In the midst of flirtatious innocence_  
_Meet at my fingertips_  
_Just an inch from my lips_  
_Getin' too hard to resist_  
_See your eyes in a darkened room_  
_Look at mine, see where your thoughts stray to_  
_'Cause I get chills every time that you_  
_Almost touch me  
_ **Almost Touch Me - Maisy Kay**

Clarke had been plagued by ghosts all her life. Some people could sense it; someone once told her she was born under a bad sign, a fortune teller tried to tell her it was in the stars, and a ghost had once told her she needed to sacrifice a chicken to appease the gods. She thought she’d just been born with bad luck.

When she was younger, she was terrified of them. They all looked how they did at the moment of death, and to a small child, disfigured human faces appearing in front of you at all hours of the day was beyond terrifying. But after over twenty years, she had grown used to the fear. It took something big to shake her now - a vengeful spirit, or one popping up in the bath (which had, unfortunately, happened more than once) - _now_ she was just frustrated.

She couldn’t _sleep_.

It was like she wore a neon sign that said “I CAN SEE YOU. COME AND TELL ME YOUR PROBLEMS” because ghosts bothered her wherever she went, at all hours of the day. At this point she was certain there was some kind of ghost phone tree so that they could pass on where she was to the newest ghost with an issue to solve. Sometimes they didn’t even want her to do anything, they just wanted to cause trouble for fun. Those were the ones she hated the most.

If there was money in it, she’d honestly consider it as a career, but she couldn’t spend every day of her life helping ghosts when she had bills to pay. So instead, she bounced between jobs, always getting kicked out because of ghosts who wouldn’t leave her alone and caused problems.

Her first job was at a cafe, and four days in a ghost appeared wanting her to talk to his wife. He seemed to have a problem with his throat, because he didn’t talk, he just prodded her as she served customers. When she tried to ignore him and get on with her job, he became irate and started knocking coffee from her hands. She attempted to explain herself to her boss, but once she’d smashed fifteen mugs on the ground there was really no way to excuse that without mentioning ghosts, and she was let go for incompetence.

“My shift only lasted four hours,” she snapped as she was walking home, ghost still on her heels. “You couldn’t have waited for me to finish?”

The ghost moved in front of her, jostling her against someone walking the other way. She apologised profusely and turned to glare at him.

“Just for that, I’m not helping you at all.”

The ghost shoved her again.

“Don’t give me that, you got me fired.”

He followed her home, shoving her all the way.

She held out for another week while she looked for a new job, but he didn’t let up, bothering her day and night, and by the eighth day she broke. She just wanted a few hours of sleep, and at that point she’d have done _anything_ to get it.

It turned out his wife was sick and living on her own, and he’d been bothering her because he was worried, which was actually very sweet in theory. It would have been sweeter had Clarke not been running on twelve minutes of sleep.

And that cycle continued for years; she’d get a job, keep it for a little while, and then one particularly bothersome ghost would come along and ruin it. No-one wants to hire the crazy girl who talks to herself and breaks things. It’s also pretty hard to keep friends when ghosts crowd you everywhere you go, so she couldn’t exactly be picky. Which was how she ended up with Murphy and Wells. Sort of depressing that her only friends in the world were two old ghosts who bickered constantly.

“I’m just saying, if you think The Beach Boys are better than the Beatles, then you _deserve_ to be dead.” Murphy said lazily, legs kicked up against Clarke’s bedroom wall.

“I never said that! I just said sometimes I’m in the mood for The Beach Boys.”

“And I’m telling you that you’re wrong.”

“What else is new?”

“It’s not my fault that you’re wrong about _so_ many things.”

“What about the Rolling Stones?” Clarke interjected, throwing her bag onto the bed and plonking down at her desk. The bag went through Murphy’s chest as it landed, but he barely moved. They were pretty used to that sort of thing by now.

Wells looked over at her, putting his book down. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“But it’s so funny,” Clarke deadpanned, accepting Murphy’s outstretched low-five from his place on the bed.

“Why do I put up with you both?” Wells asked, to nobody in particular.

“My dazzling good looks and personality.” Murphy replied.

“I think it’s because I’m the only person that can see you and Murphy likes me too much to leave, so it’s a package deal.” Clarke shrugged.

Wells sighed, world-weary, and picked his book back up. A few moments passed in companionable silence before he said, “I like you too much to leave too. Just to be clear.”

* * *

Just before Halloween, Clarke started a new job at a bar. Contrary to popular belief, Halloween was actually a great time to be a person who could see ghosts, because most of the ghosts were busy haunting people which meant they left Clarke alone, for the most part.

The downside of this, was that the reason there were so many hauntings happening, was because the barriers between the realms of the living and the dead broke down around Halloween, which meant that any ghost that _did_ want to bother Clarke could do it a lot more effectively that normal. It was really a toss of the dice.

The last two Halloweens had been amazing - Clarke had flown completely under the radar because so many of the ghosts had been visible enough to the general public that someone who could see them wasn’t a novelty.

But Clarke didn’t trust her luck as far as she could throw it, which was nowhere, because she’d never had any.

Which was why she wasn’t surprised when her co-worker was an epic dick.

It started with her very first shift, when a particularly horny ghost appeared and grabbed his ass as Clarke walked by. And she got blamed for it. It’s very hard to explain that you did not in fact grab someone’s ass when they can’t see the smug ghost over their left shoulder laughing their ass off at you getting yelled at. He complained to the boss, but when she consulted the security tapes, it proved that Clarke’s hand was nowhere near him when he got pinched.

So from that moment on, Bellamy Blake had a grudge against her, and she did her level best to stay as far away from him as possible. Something that is very difficult to do when you work behind a bar and you’re on shift with him every day.

It was especially annoying because Bellamy was annoyingly charismatic, got along with all their co-workers, charmed every customer that walked through the door, and only seemed to reserve his ire for Clarke: a smile in one direction and a glare in the other. So of course, she gave back in kind, making it a personal mission to get more tips than him by the end of each night.

Wells was sympathetic, but Murphy found the whole thing rather funny, even adding fuel to the fire when he knocked over the shot Bellamy poured for a customer and Bellamy assumed Clarke had done it, leading to a ten minute argument which they managed to hide from the customers by only conversing in angry mutters as they passed each other.

The whole month of October was a series of unfortunate events, exacerbated by ghosts.

But hey, she hadn’t been fired yet.

And her other co-workers actually seemed to like her. Monty and Harper were the kind of nice people that liked everyone, and Clarke started wishing for the days when they were on shift to come faster. Diyoza, the boss, was intense, but surprisingly witty, which Clarke appreciate, and Miller, the bar manager, was one of the most sarcastic people Clarke had met outside of Murphy, but he managed to deliver it with such finesse that it often took asshole customers until they’d already left the bar before they realised he’d insulted them. Not a skill Murphy was blessed with. He tended to just ram into their elbows when they annoyed him, spilling drinks on the floor. Which Clarke then had to clean up.

Clarke still didn’t feel comfortable around her co-workers, despite how much she liked them, partly or maybe entirely because she didn’t expect to stay for long. So whenever Harper invited her out for coffee she politely declined, and when Miller offered to set her up with one of his friends after she mentioned she was bi, she did the same. She didn’t want to do something embarrassing in front of them and after an entire lifetime of managing awkward situations, her strategy was just to avoid as much social interaction as possible.

She spent every second shift trying to keep that horny ghost away from patrons, which meant “accidentally” bumping into people to move them from its path. Once again, she was getting a reputation as a klutz, but she’d rather that than watch innocent people get groped and not be able to see the culprit. She was going to have to get rid of that ghost at some point, but she didn’t know what he wanted and until she did, she couldn’t send him on his way.

But with the bar kitted out in decorations and dark enough that people didn’t notice when she stepped weirdly to avoid walking through ghosts only she could see, she was beginning to feel at home in this place. Which was never a great sign, because it usually came right before a ghost turned up to ruin everything and send her back to the unemployment line.

* * *

The week of Halloween the boss told them to dress in costume for their shifts, and the only thing Clarke had on short notice was an old princess costume, so naturally Bellamy managed to find a way to make her hate it, completely replacing her name in his vocabulary with it.

“Princess, someone smashed a glass in the booth.”

“Hey Princess can you man the bar for a sec? I need to break up a fight.”

“What are you doing, Princess? Use one of the toppers!”

All night long, she put up with it, getting more and more irate as the night went on. Murphy thought it was a laugh riot, and even Wells couldn’t help a smile or two when Clarke slammed a cup down a little too hard after the most recent order. What was the point in having them visit her at work if they weren’t going to take her side?

“Princess, can you pass me the-”

She slid the whiskey down the bar before he’d even finished the question, quietly seething as she served the next customer.

“Clarke, I don’t think he’s doing it to be malicious.” Wells tried, placating hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off and stomped into the freezer to grab ingredients.

“I think that’s _exactly_ what he’s doing, and if he’s not careful, he’s going to get a toothpick in his eye.” Clarke muttered as she gathered the toothpicks up with the bag of ice.

“You’re not going to stab him.”

“Aren’t I?” Clarke moved towards the door but Wells stood in her way. “Don’t make me walk through you.”

“You really need this job.” Wells reminded her. “It pays well, and you need to buy groceries this week. Ignore the hot douchebag and just focus on keeping this job for as long as possible.”

“I’m not-”

The freezer door opened and Bellamy strode in, walking right through Wells on his way to the sorbet. “You’re not _what_ , Princess?”

“What is your _problem_?” Clarke rounded on him, ignoring Wells’s loud pleas.

“My problem? I thought that was obvious, Princess. It’s you.” He flashed her a smile and she hated the flicker of attraction she felt at it.

“What did I ever do to you? Other than _not_ grab your ass?”

“Let’s see… you’re clumsy, you take too long to do simple things - like grab ingredients from the freezer, for example - and you have an attitude.”

“What attitude?” She folded her arms, bag of ice in her fist smacking painfully against her side. She ignored it.

“Like you’re better than everyone else. I don’t like people like that.”

“I don’t think I’m better than other people. When have I _ever_ said that?”

“You brush off Harper whenever she invites you out, you wouldn’t let Miller set you up on _one_ date with his friend, after he specifically spoke to her with you in mind, and you constantly ignore people and space out on your own.”

“That’s not-” Clarke was about to argue that she had her reasons for all of that, and none of it was entitlement, but Wells smacked a hand over her mouth.

“What are you gonna do, tell him you see ghosts?”

“I think she should.” Murphy grinned, appearing on the top shelf and looking down at them all.

“Shut up, Murphy.”

Clarke elbowed Wells and he dropped his hand. Bellamy was still standing in front of her, eyes narrowed, and she sighed. “Forget it.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and pushed past her on his way out of the freezer, apparently determined to be stuck in there with her a moment longer, but as the bare skin of his arm came into contact with her hand, an electric shock passed through her.

Like static, except that it lingered, warming her all the way down to her toes, and she flinched backward, dropping the bag of ice. Bellamy froze in the doorway, just as surprised. He looked between her arm and his, and then up to her face for the briefest of seconds, before he shook his head and disappeared back into the bar. Clarke frowned, looking to Wells, only to find that he had disappeared. She glanced up to the ceiling, to discover that Murphy was gone too.

Weird.

When she returned to the bar, there was a sudden rush of customers, and she managed to forget about the strange occurrence for a few hours. Which was easier when she realised that Wells and Murphy were both leaning against the bar. They must have vanished while she was arguing with Bellamy and decided to wait it out.

Harper offered to stay on for another hour because they were so busy, but Clarke could see she wanted to get home to Monty so she ushered her out the door with a smile, promising her that she was fine.

She could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her as she did, and she fought the urge to roll hers right back at him.

When they closed, Miller went out the back to log the tills while she and Bellamy cleaned up: the usual routine. Wells did his best to help - becoming corporeal took a lot of effort - by gathering glasses together on tables when Bellamy wasn’t looking.

“I think you just need to bone.” Murphy said, lounging on the bar while Clarke washed glasses and Bellamy swept the floor.

“I think you need to shut the fuck up.” Clarke retorted, tossing a cloth through him.

“What was that, Princess?” Bellamy asked, leaning on the broom and staring at her expectantly.

“Nothing.”

“Oooh, _Princess_.” Murphy clutched an imaginary bouquet and waggled his eyebrows at her.

She tried to keep her voice lower this time. “Murphy, I swear to god-”

“I’m just saying, this feels less like real tension and more like romantic tension.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, it’s not just me - Wells agrees!”

Clarke almost dropped the glass she was holding. She turned to glare at Wells, who just shrugged. “You didn’t notice what happened before?”

She blinked, the incident already half-forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“When he touched you.”

She blinked again, deliberately obtuse this time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.” Murphy grinned. “It was like a lightning bolt. _I_ felt it.”

“We both did.” Wells said, solemn. “You didn’t see us disappear?”

She paused. “Well. Yeah, but I figured you just left.”

He shook his head, leaning on the bar, elbows next to Murphy’s head. “Something happened when he touched you, like a forcefield or something. It expelled us from the building.”

“From the _building?_ Not the freezer, the whole _building?”_ Clarke emptied the sink and ran a towel along the counter. “How does that even work?”

“You’re looking at me? I dropped out of college,” Murphy raised an eyebrow. “One minute we were watching you flirt, the next we were on our asses on the sidewalk.”

She frowned. “Okay. That _is_ weird. But maybe it’s just because Halloween is coming and the air is weird. It’s probably not even to do with him, it’s probably just something in the static.”

“Has that ever happened to you before? I’ve known you for ten years, and I can’t think of _one_ incident that even comes close.” Wells pointed out.

“Like I said, Halloween-”

“Has never made us vanish before.” Wells tilted his head at her, thoughtful. “Was that the first time you touched him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We work together. Behind a bar. We must have touched before.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s made it pretty clear he wants to avoid you.” Murphy said, sitting up enough to shoot her a look.

Clarke opened her mouth to retort, but Bellamy was walking back towards her with a cloth over his shoulder and she didn’t want to antagonise him any more than she already had that evening, so she settled for flipping Murphy off as she hung up the last of the dishes. She noticed - largely because Murphy kept gesturing between them and making a smug face at her - that Bellamy was giving her an even wider berth than normal.

Wells hummed pensively. “I have an idea.”

Clarke looked over at him sharply. “No.”

Bellamy, in the middle of tying the bins, paused, looking over at her. “What?”

She winced. “Sorry. Not you. I… sometimes I talk to myself.”

“You talk to yourself?”

“Sort of.”

He looked at her a moment longer before, “Okay,” he said, surprisingly acquiescent, and carried the bags out the side door into the alley.

“Nice save.” Murphy smirked.

“Better he thinks I’m _normal_ weird than _I-can-speak-to-ghosts_ weird.” Clarke pointed out. She rounded on Wells. “And you. No. I know exactly what you’re thinking and _absolutely not.”_

“I’m just saying, if we want to prove the hypothesis that Bellamy is the catalyst for that weird force thing, then we should test it out.”

“What are you two rambling about?” Murphy asked, only half-paying attention because he’d just noticed a pretty girl walk past the window.

“He wants me to touch him.”

“Wells?”

“No, Bellamy.”

“What about Bellamy?”

“Wells wants me to touch Bellamy!” Clarke snapped, and Murphy lifted his chin, shit-eating grin on his face. She realised - far too late - that Murphy _had_ been listening, and that Bellamy was already back inside, standing between the tables looking confused and a little concerned.

“What?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke tried to come up with a response, failed, and just resigned herself to him thinking of her as a crazy person, the way everyone eventually did anyway. “Ignore me, I’m just talking to myself again.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you trying to touch me?” He didn’t sound as horrified as she expected, more bemused than anything else, but she still managed to feel the mortification down to her toes.

“Because she’s into you.” Murphy quipped.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. When that didn’t work, she changed tack and went for violence, smacking Murphy in the back of the head as she jumped over the bar. He reciprocated by sticking his foot out, tripping her. She went careening into one of the tables and the edge of a chair caught her ribs, making her gasp.

“Hey!” She snapped, straightening up quickly with one hand outstretched while the other clutched at her side, but Murphy danced out of her reach. “Asshole. Are you _trying_ to get me fired? You know if I break shit I have to pay for it.”

“You hit me, I hit back, you know that, Princess.” Murphy grinned wolfishly.

Clarke made another swipe for him. “Don’t you start with that Princess shit, I’ll-”

He vanished and reappeared near the door, twirling a straw between his fingers. “You’ll what? Kill me?”

“Okay,” Wells appeared between them, “both of you calm down.”

“You’re gonna lecture me on fighting with Murphy? You?” Clarke folded her arms. “That’s rich. We wouldn’t even be fighting if you hadn’t suggested I _touch Bellamy_ like that isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had. I thought you graduated from Harvard.”

“Okay, seriously, what the _fuck_ is going on?” Bellamy’s voice cut through the argument and Clarke remembered that he’d been standing there witnessing the entire thing. She dropped her head into her hands, resigning herself to the fact that she was definitely about to either get fired or sent to a mental hospital again. “Are you… okay? Is there some kind of medication you should be taking?”

Surprisingly, that didn’t sound as sarcastic as she expected. He almost sounded genuinely concerned for her. Which was… kind of nice, if she was honest.

“No,” she said through her fingers, “I’m just crazy. Forget about it.”

“Well, don’t- I’m not just gonna forget about it, Clarke. What’s going on?”

“You’re not going to believe me if I tell you, so just don’t worry about it. I’m a psycho, just add it to your list of my negative qualities.”

“Whoa, hey, that’s not- Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice was soft, and he was closer than before, “I might be an asshole, but I like to think I’m not a bad person. If there’s something wrong-”

“There’s nothing wrong, my friends are just assholes.”

“Hey!”

Clarke choked on a laugh, still hiding her face in her hands. “Sorry Wells.”

“Who’s Wells?” Bellamy asked.

She sighed loudly and lifted her head. At this point, she really had nothing left to lose. “He’s a ghost.”

Bellamy was barely a foot away from her, concern on his face and his arm raised slightly like he’d been about to touch her shoulder, but he was frozen on the spot, blinking a little dazedly. “I’m sorry, he’s a what?”

“He’s a ghost. I can see ghosts.”

Bellamy lowered his arm. “Uh.”

“See, this is why I usually just keep to myself. It’s impossible to explain and I’m never going to convince you that I’m not lying, so why would I bother?” She looked to Wells, who shrugged helplessly at her. “Oh great, you’re no help. Murphy, any ideas?”

“Who?” Bellamy asked. He looked a little pale.

“Murphy, he’s the other ghost.”

“Oh there’s just two, is there?” He asked, a wry smile crossing his face. Well, at least he could still see the humour in this situation. Clarke was definitely struggling to.

“No, there’s thousands, but these are the two that follow me around.”

“I resent that.” Murphy grunted.

“Oh I’m sorry, are _you_ not following me around?” Clarke asked.

He scowled at her. “Just because there’s nothing better to do-”

“Nothing better to do than what? Sit around while I’m at work?”

“I don’t _always_ come to work with you.”

Clarke snorted. “Face it, Murphy, you _like_ me.”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“Feelings aren’t disgusting, and one day you’ll reach adulthood and realise that.” She retorted, and Wells hid a laugh behind his hand.

Murphy vanished, reappearing right beside her, and her reflexes were too slow to dodge before he shoved her and she careened forwards, slamming into Bellamy, whose arms instinctively came up around her, steadying them both. Once again, she felt that electricity buzz through her, and she gripped his elbows as he tipped her back to her feet.

She glanced around, only to see that Murphy and Wells had vanished.

“Damn. Wells was right.” Clarke muttered.

“Right about what?” Bellamy asked, eyes raking over her face.

“You.”

“Me?” Bellamy’s face was inches from hers, and his hands were still around her arms, and she was having a little trouble catching her train of thought when he was looking at her with those worried eyes.

She cleared her throat and stepped away from him. He looked down at his hands, as if only just realising he was still holding her, and quickly shoved them in his pockets.

“Uh. When you bumped into me before, they disappeared. Wells and Murphy, I mean, they just… vanished. They said it was some kind of forcefield that pushed them outside. Wells thought it was something to do with you, but I disagreed.”

Realisation dawned on Bellamy’s face. “Ah. Hence the… _touching me_ thing.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Wells and Murphy blinked into view on either side of her, making her jump.

“Okay, it’s definitely a proximity thing, because that time we were sent to the other side of the street.” Wells said, brushing imaginary dirt off his jacket. “And it’s definitely Bellamy.”

“Congratulations, Clarke, you have magical sexual tension.” Murphy clapped her on the shoulder.

She elbowed him, and Bellamy tracked the movement. “Are they back?”

She nodded. “I know this is hard to believe.”

“A little.” He looked at the empty space around him. “You live twenty-five years and then get told ghosts are real, there’s gotta be an adjustment period.”

“Wait. You’re not calling me crazy.”

“Why would I do that? Firstly, it’s rude, secondly, if you _are_ crazy then I probably shouldn’t pick a fight with you.”

“You’re just now realising this?” Wells deadpanned, and Clarke made an unimpressed face in his direction. “I’m just saying, he’s been antagonising you for weeks.”

“You’re so not funny.” She said, fighting a smile.

“I assume you’re talking to your ghost friends now, because I’m hilarious.” Bellamy offered, and the smile broke out over her face. He looked relieved at it, like he was really worried about her, and she tried to ignore the pang of longing she felt at the idea of someone being invested in her wellbeing. “So… how long have you been seeing ghosts?”

“My whole life, pretty much. It makes it hard to keep a job, or maintain relationships, which is why these two jackasses are my only friends.”

“Unfortunate for you.” Murphy leaned on her annoyingly.

“Get off me,” she complained, jokingly shoving at him.

He laughed at her and strode over to Bellamy, looking him up and down appreciatively before glancing suggestively back at Clarke. “Just rearrange two of those words and say it to Bellamy.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“The best have tried,” he winked.

“One obviously succeeded,” Wells pointed out.

“Shut up, Wells.”

“Will you two just make out already so I don’t have to watch you bicker for the rest of eternity?” Clarke begged.

Wells looked faintly sick. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Jaha.” Murphy blinked into place right beside him, getting way too close and sliding a palm up Wells’ arm.

“Don’t touch me, I have no idea where your hands have been.” Wells leaned away, scrambling against the bar when he lost his balance, and his elbow smacked into a stack of plastic cups, sending them scattering across the floor. He leapt back, hands raised. “Shit. Sorry Clarke.”

Clarke groaned, exhausted. “I _just_ washed those.”

“Did… did those cups just fall on their own?” Bellamy asked as she ducked under the bar and started gathering them up. She dumped them all in the sink and started warming the water.

“Wells knocked them over because Murphy was flirting with him.”

“Because the correct response to flirting is property damage.” Bellamy deadpanned, and Clarke laughed, caught off guard by the joke, and when she glanced up at him over the counter, he was beaming at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you even smiling like that before, let alone laughing.”

She felt her cheeks warming up and quickly looked back to the sink. “Yeah, well, I’m usually trying not to draw attention to myself. And being bothered by spirits. Not a lot to smile about when random ghosts turn up and bother you everywhere you go.”

He stepped forward, interested, and propped himself up against the bar while she washed the cups. “They bother you?”

“Oh yeah. They usually want something from me that they can’t get themselves; it takes a lot of effort for ghosts to make themselves corporeal and even then it usually only lasts for a few seconds or comes when they’re feeling strong emotions. Wells and Murphy are better at it because they’ve been around for a long time but new ghosts are mostly confused and upset and have unfinished business they want me to finish for them. It’s exhausting.”

“What sort of unfinished business?”

She shrugged. “It could be anything. Like that ghost that grabbed your ass? He seems to just want to grope people, so I don’t know what his deal is.”

Bellamy scrunched up his nose. “A _ghost_ grabbed my ass?”

“Yep.”

He hesitated, looking at her like he expected her to say she was joking. When she didn’t, he sighed. “I’m sorry I accused you. That sort of thing must happen to you a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t keep jobs for long.” She finished up the washing and ducked back out into the main area, drying her hands off on her jeans.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising? It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but… that must suck.”

“You get used to it.” Clarke yawned, checking her watch as she did. “Shit! Guess I’m walking home. Murphy, I’m blaming this on you.”

Murphy barely blinked. “That checks out.”

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy asked.

“I usually get the last bus home. I don’t drive because I’m paranoid about accidents if ghosts appear out of nowhere. It’s fine, it’s not that far.” Clarke ducked into the back office to grab her bag, waving goodbye to a distracted Miller as she did. “You’re in tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah…” Bellamy stepped closer, thinking. “Why don’t I just drop you home?”

Clarke stopped with her hand on the door. “Thanks, but I’m fine, it’s really not that far away.”

“Clarke, let him take you home.” Murphy said suggestively, earning a smack in the head from Wells. “What? When was the last time she got any action?”

“Murphy-”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, _shut up.”_ He raised his hands in surrender, but the smug smirk didn’t leave his face.

Clarke glared at him, but something touched her elbow and both Wells and Murphy vanished from view. She looked up to find Bellamy standing closer than she expected, hand prying her bag from her shoulder so he could swing it over his own. He jerked his head towards the door and she decided she knew better than to argue, so she followed him out of the bar and around the back to where his rundown car was parked beside Miller’s. She was barely in the passenger seat before Wells and Murphy reappeared in the back, looking unbothered by their sudden expulsion.

“We really should figure out why touching Bellamy makes you do that.” Wells said idly.

“I’m not doing it! It’s just happening!” Clarke complained, as Bellamy turned the engine over and pulled out onto the street.

“Oh. Did they disappear again?” He asked, glancing at her for the briefest of moments before his gaze locked back onto the road. She nodded and he hummed pensively. He might have been zoning out, were it not for the slight narrowing of his eyes as he thought it through. After a long few minutes of silence, he turned into Clarke’s street and said, “Can you sleep?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”

“You said they bother you all the time, right? So can you sleep, or do they bother you then too?”

“Why are you asking?”

He pulled over, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just… now that I’m actually looking, you look… you look really tired. And I don’t want you working through sleep deprivation during one of the busiest weeks of the year.”

“Like I said, I’m pretty used to it,” she promised, opening the door and jumping out. “See you tomorrow, Bellamy.”

“Wait, Clarke!”

She hovered, fingers around the handle.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You can touch me.”

If she could have, she would have choked on oxygen. _“What?”_

Was it just her imagination or was he turning a little pink? “If it bothers you, I mean. The ghosts. You can touch me, if it makes them go away. I don’t want you being stressed on shifts, and you said it pushes them out so maybe it’ll keep that creepy ghost out too, which is good for business. You don’t have to ask, you can just grab my arm whenever you need. Okay?”

She swallowed, looking down to avoid letting him see how emotionally affected she was. Nobody had ever said something so kind to her before and it made her want to cry. When she spoke, she tried desperately to keep the wobble out of her voice. “Okay. Night Bellamy.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he thought better of it and sent her a silent wave as she shuffled into her apartment building, flanked by two ghosts he couldn’t see, both of whom were pretending to swoon all the way up to her front door.

* * *

The next few days in the lead up to Halloween were… weird.

All of a sudden, Bellamy’s animosity towards her was just _gone_ and he was keeping close to her side like he was worried she might pass out or something. He also wasn’t avoiding touching her anymore, despite the electric shocks the contact seemed to give both of them. Wells and Murphy got banished so many times that by halfway through the next shift they just gave up and said they would wait at home.

Bellamy was acting like her _friend_ and it sort of freaked her out, maybe because a part of her had really expected him to call the authorities after she told him the truth. Instead, he just took it in stride, like somehow the fact that she was plagued by spirits made her _more_ likeable, not less, and she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Not to mention, their coworkers had noticed it too. Miller kept looking between them with a funny look on his face, and Monty and Harper had both noticeably relaxed since Bellamy stopped barking irritably whenever she was in the room. She realised that part of why they’d been so overly nice to her was because they were worried she was offended by Bellamy’s rudeness, which honestly just made her like them more.

On Wednesday, Harper pulled Clarke aside during a quiet period. “Okay, spill.”

Clarke looked around, confused. “Spill what?”

“You and Bellamy. How long has that been a thing?”

“We- we’re not a _thing!”_ Clarke shook her head vehemently, glancing around in case Bellamy overhead. Harper looked sceptical. “Really. We’re really not, he just- he apologised, and we decided to start over. We’re sort of friends now, I guess.”

“Friends? That’s what you’re going with?” Harper raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, Clarke.”

Warmth flooded into her cheeks. She couldn’t deny that the way she looked at Bellamy had changed. She couldn’t help it, not when every time she touched him it felt like all her anxieties melted away. She didn’t have to worry about ghosts appearing over her shoulder with every passing second, just as long as his arm knocked against hers while they served drinks. She’d torn off the sleeves of her princess dress, telling everyone she was going to make the dress messier in stages, like every night she slowly turned into a zombie, so that by Halloween she’d be a full zombie princess, but she caught the way Bellamy glanced at her bare wrists and she knew he knew why she’d really done it. He didn’t bring it up, he just smiled briefly at her and squeezed her wrist as she passed him.

So maybe she looked at him a little softer now.

Was that such a crime?

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Harper rushed to say, like she’d heard Clarke’s internal meltdown, “I just wanted to check in with you, make sure you’re good.”

“I’m good.” Clarke smiled, genuine. “But we’re really not a thing.”

Harper nodded, more placating than anything else, but Clarke would take it. She could feel her eyes on her for the rest of her shift, not to mention Monty’s, and even Diyoza winked at her as she turned up for the late shift. Bellamy seemed oblivious, just his usual charming self, and Clarke was almost annoyed by how unbothered he was. Why did she have to feel so embarrassed? She squared her shoulders and resolved to stop overthinking it and focus on work.

At the end of the shift, as she often did, Harper invited Clarke over for drinks with her and Monty and she was about to say no when Bellamy hooked an arm around her shoulder.

“C’mon Princess, one night off won’t kill you.”

She looked up at him, questioning, and he tilted his head at her, urging her to go with it. She sighed. “Fine, I guess I can stay for one drink.”

“Wait. Seriously?” Monty’s jaw dropped. “We’ve been inviting you over for three weeks and all we had to do was make Bellamy ask you?”

She felt herself turning beet red. “Shut up, I’m not-”

“I guess you’re just not as charming as me, Monty,” Bellamy flashed a grin and tugged Clarke into step with them as they walked to Harper’s apartment, which was only a block away from the bar. Monty was nice enough to stop teasing Clarke once Bellamy had pointedly stepped in, but that didn’t stop Clarke’s embarrassment. She had never been so glad that Wells and Murphy weren’t there. If they saw this, they’d have a field day. Or a week. Or a year.

Harper’s place was nice, but Clarke could barely focus on the house tour she was being given because Bellamy’s arm had not left her shoulders. It was unbelievably distracting, in that he was warm and bright and way too close to her and all she could think about was where his skin met hers.

When they sat down on the couch and Harper and Monty ducked into the kitchen to grab snacks and drinks, Clarke scowled over at Bellamy. “What are you doing?”

“Hanging out with my friends.” He said, impassive.

She elbowed him. “You know that’s not what I mean. Harper asked me if we were dating earlier, and you are _not_ helping.”

His expression didn’t change, but his hand tightened slightly on her shoulder. “I realised that the only reason you said no when she invited you was because you didn’t want to deal with ghosts. I figure as long as you’re touching me, you don’t have to worry about it.”

He really needed to stop saying things like that, because if Clarke was distracted before, that was nothing. Her gaze caught on his mouth, her own feeling suddenly dry, and she wondered if he knew that his being so nice to her was so frustrating, and-

“We’ve run out of beer so I’ve got tequila!” Monty danced into the room, Harper behind him with a tray of pretzels and cheese, a lime and a small knife balanced in her free hand.

“We have work tomorrow.” Bellamy reminded them.

“Not until the evening,” Harper clicked her tongue and put the tray down so she could start slicing the lime. “Live a little. What about you Clarke, you drinking?”

Clarke smiled politely. “Actually, I don’t drink.”

“You- you what?” She looked almost offended at the idea.

“Yeah I’m sort of allergic to alcohol? So I just avoid it most of the time.”

“Allergic how?” Monty asked, interested, and Bellamy shifted slightly against her side so he could see her better.

She swiped a pretzel from the coffee table and shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. Alcohol and I just don’t mix.”

“But you work in a bar - you’re not worried about getting sick?”

“I can be around it, I just can’t drink it.”

“How?”

“Like I said, it’s really hard to explain.”

Bellamy made a strange gesture, like he’d just realised something. “Ahh. Is it something to do with the reason why you keep to yourself?”

Her head whipped around. He was looking at her earnestly, with the faintest hint of worry. That… that shouldn’t be sexy to her, right? “Yeah.”

“Since when do you two have secrets?” Harper asked, but she didn’t sound offended, just amused. “Why _do_ you keep to yourself, Clarke? I didn’t want to say anything, but Monty and I have been worried about you. You always seem really on edge, and you don’t seem to have a social life. We were starting to think you might have a drug problem, or maybe you’re recovering from a bad relationship, cause you’re so jumpy.”

Clarke shrugged. “I just… don’t mix well with people.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never really managed to keep friends for very long, so I tend to keep to myself to avoid going through it again. Once people get to know me, they usually figure out I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“You’re not.” Bellamy said, and he sounded so serious that it almost made her jump.

“It’s my own fault Bellamy, you know that. I’ve got a condition that makes me difficult to be around. Everyone runs away screaming eventually.” She tried to say it like she didn’t mind, but the jovial tone couldn’t hide the edge of pain she felt at the hard truth.

“Don’t be silly, we love you.” Monty beamed at her, and it was impossible to feel bad about herself when he did that.

Bellamy agreed, pulling her somehow even closer against his side. “It’s not you, Princess, don’t think like that.”

“What is it?” Harper asked, curious, and then amended herself. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell us, I just want you to know that no matter what it is, we won’t run away. We’ve had our fair share of weird and we don’t scare easily.”

“You haven’t met Murphy.” Clarke muttered, and Bellamy snorted.

“Who’s Murphy? Your boyfriend?” Harper asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Bellamy stiffened slightly.

Clarke laughed. “Oh god, no. He’s sort of like my brother. I’ve known him for ten years.”

“And Bellamy’s met him?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Monty looked between them.

Bellamy picked up one of the freshly poured tequila shots and downed it in one, smacking a slice of lime between his teeth, and when he put the rind in the glass and tipped it upside down onto the table, he said, “Clarke sees ghosts.”

“Bellamy!” Clarke shrieked, slapping his chest.

“What? You do.”

“What is wrong with you?!” She asked, waiting for the ground to swallow her whole and intending to drag Bellamy down to hell with her.

He huffed, “Look, you convinced me, and Harper and Monty are _way_ more open-minded than I am. I don’t like that you think you’re unlovable just because you get bothered by spirits all the time. It’s nothing to do with you, it’s them, and it’s not fair.”

“It was easy to convince you because you’re different-”

“I’m different?” He asked, and all the breath left her lungs because his expression was almost _affectionate_ in a way she wasn’t ready to accept.

She cleared her throat and looked down at her hands. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“You’re serious about this?” Harper asked, and Clarke remembered that the other two were there, head jerking up to see them both looking surprised, but not angry. They didn’t look like they were about to kick her out, or that they were gonna accuse her of lying, which was nice.

Clarke nodded nervously. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of dead silence, and then-

“Okay.” Monty said, tossing away Bellamy’s lime and refilling his glass, like nothing had happened.

“Wait- you’re, you’re not upset?”

“Why would we be upset?”

“Most people accuse me of making it up, or once they realise I’m not they tell me I’m too much trouble and leave.”

“Do we look like most people?” Monty made a face.

Harper nodded. “So you can see ghosts, so what? All we care about is whether or not you’re a good person. You don’t kick babies in your spare time do you?”

“Not unless I get possessed. Which is why I don’t drink.”

“Really? That’s so interesting. Why?”

“Alcohol muddles my brain, makes it easier for ghosts to slip through and take over. I had too many close calls, so I just stopped drinking altogether.”

“But with me here, you can probably drink, right?” Bellamy asked.

“Not unless you’re also coming home with me,” she said, without thinking. Her eyes widened. “I mean, not like that-”

“I know what you meant, Princess.” Bellamy said. Was it her imagination or did he sound a little disappointed?

“What _do_ you mean?” Harper asked, gesturing between them. “Cause don’t think we weren’t going to ask about how cosy you are. We were just gonna wait until you were sufficiently drunk, but since that isn’t going to happen, I may as well just ask.”

“It’s a long story.” Clarke said awkwardly.

Harper grinned, offering her more pretzels and knocking back her shot of tequila. “We’ve got time.”

* * *

It turned out, having friends was kind of awesome.

Harper and Monty were fascinated by her ghost problem, and even _more_ fascinated by Bellamy’s effect on it. They wanted to meet Murphy and Wells even if they couldn’t see them, and they loved hearing the stories of how ghosts kept interrupting her life.

Clarke felt like she could breathe for the first time in years, and it was bizarre because she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding her breath, but now that it was gone there was a sense of immense relief.

She had _friends_.

Friends she could _see_.

Everything was perfect.

So naturally, that was when things started to go wrong.

On the two days leading up to Halloween, Bellamy wasn’t at work. Something had come up with his sister, but he promised Diyoza he’d be back by Saturday because he knew they needed all hands on deck for Halloween.

Then Harper got sick, so it was just Clarke, Monty and Miller on the bar while Diyoza tried to find childcare so she could help them on the late shifts.

Then the groping ghost returned, so Clarke was overly distracted trying to fend him off people, and actually had to call in Murphy and Wells to help her on Friday so that they didn’t fall behind serving customers.

Unfortunately, this meant that Murphy and Wells were too distracted to notice when another presence appeared, late on Friday night, right in the middle of the pre-Halloween rush.

It felt like ice on her back, dripping down her spine, and instantly she knew what it was. A malevolent spirit was taking advantage of the breakdown between worlds, and was trying to get through. Initially it tried to use her as a vessel, but when it realised she wasn’t so easily possessed, it disappeared, and despite her fear, she brushed it off. Perhaps it had given up.

She mentioned it to Wells and he said he couldn’t see anything, so she tried to ignore the anxiety she felt, but she couldn’t quite shake it.

Truly malevolent spirits didn’t come around very often, but when they did, she usually ended up hospitalised. She’d spent enough weeks in mental health wards and even the ER to know that if it _did_ get through, she was going to be in for a horrible time.

When they finally got off work in the early hours of the morning, she’d once again missed the last bus, and she didn’t have Bellamy to drive her home. Harper and Monty didn’t have a car, and Miller and Diyoza were staying later to lock up, so she had to walk alone through the dimly lit streets, looking over her shoulder the entire way home.

“You’re an adult, Clarke.” She scolded herself as she flinched once again at nothing. “You can’t be scared of the dark.”

“Yeah, but unlike other people, you can actually see what’s _in_ the dark.” Murphy pointed out.

“That’s _really_ not helping.” Wells growled.

“Sorry.” He said, and actually managed to sound apologetic.

Something ice cold snatched her neck and Clarke shrieked, throwing it off and taking off in a run. She didn’t care how undignified it was, she wanted to be home with her back to the walls.

Luckily, she wasn’t far from her apartment building, and she decided to forgo the elevator and just run up the stairs, hoping that at the very least the exercise would tire her out enough that she’d be able to sleep.

A useless hope, really.

Her anxiety kept her up the entire night, back pressed against her headboard, eyes wide, every light on so there was no room for anything to emerge from the shadows.

Not a single spirit bothered her that night, not even Wells and Murphy, who decided to keep quiet and sit by her respectfully, offering as much comfort as they could despite their lack of physical bodies.

The next day, she was overly wired, jumping at every slight movement, and she was dreading returning to the bar that afternoon.

“Maybe the spirit will have left? Maybe he only grabbed you because you were in his way?” Wells suggested helpfully as she pulled on her shoes and glanced ruefully at the door.

“Maybe he’s just got a choking kink.” Murphy chimed in, and Clarke threw her shoe through him.

* * *

The second Clarke walked through the door, she knew something was off.

The place felt ice cold, like she’d walked straight into the freezer, and Miller was trying fruitlessly to turn the heating up. He glanced over at her. “You look terrible.”

She shoved her bag under the bar. “I always appreciate your compliments, Miller.”

“It’s a talent.”

“What are you doing?”

“Staring at it, mostly. I don’t know how to fix it; I don’t even know what’s wrong with it, it’s just freezing in here. We might have to call a guy in.” He muttered as Clarke leaned over his shoulder.

She shook her head. “This place’ll be packed later, it might be good if it stays cool. Plus, who are you gonna get last minute on Halloween?”

Miller looked a little sheepish. “Honestly I was just gonna use it as an excuse to call the hot guy that lives in my building. He’s an electrician and I’ve been _waiting_ for an excuse to use his number.”

“You can’t just use the excuse that you want to date him?”

“I don’t know if he’s gay or not, I can’t just ask him out.” Miller looked disturbed at the idea.

“Why did he give you his number if he doesn’t want you to call him?” Clarke tied a bar apron around her waist and washed her hands, waving to the three regulars holed up in the back by the darts.

“He’s an electrician.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Maybe he just gives his number to everyone he meets in the building.”

“Did he give you a business card?”

“No.” Miller shoved his hands in his pockets, giving up on the thermostat. “He wrote it down.”

“Where?”

He hesitated. “On my hand.”

Clarke dropped her head into her hands. “See, this is why gays should travel in herds. We’re so smart, but there’s somehow not a single brain cell between us.”

“You’re telling me he wants me to call him.”

“I’m telling you he’s been waiting for you to call him since he _wrote it on your hand,_ oh my _god.”_ Clarke laughed.

“You can laugh all you want, but you won’t be laughing when I’m happily married to Bryan the electrician and you still haven’t made a move on Bellamy.” Miller said, and he was right, because she stopped laughing almost immediately.

“Miller is my favourite.” Murphy deadpanned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, trying to find something to make herself busy so she could escape.

“Oh I think you do,” Miller grinned, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you two look at each other. Just because I’m not as nosy as Harper and Monty doesn’t mean I’m not completely disgusted by the sexual tension whenever the two of you are in the same room.”

“That’s not true.”

“You can’t convince me, Clarke, I have eyes.” He winked at her and pushed off the wall, grinning happily at having gotten a rise out of her. He was already walking away, heading towards the back office, but Clarke still tried to argue to the point to his retreating back.

“Shut up, that’s-” Clarke’s retort was cut off when she glanced out over the bar and noticed that the three figures at the back had become four.

That didn’t make sense.

What made less sense, was that when the fourth figure started moving towards the bar, the darkness seemed to come with it.

“Wells,” Clarke whispered, reaching blindly out for her friends.

“I see it.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

It was like the figure was _made_ of shadows, and as it walked closer and closer, she felt the cold come with it, crawling under her ribs and squeezing around her heart.

Monty appeared from the freezer cheerily, bags of ice in his arms, but the smile fell off his face the second he saw Clarke. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Monty… do… do you see that?” She asked, eyes locked onto the approaching figure.

He glanced around, confused. “See what? Is there a ghost in here? All I can see is that it’s a bit darker than normal. And it’s cold.”

“Yeah,” she felt like her skin was going to turn to ice. “There’s a ghost in here. Monty, where’s Bellamy?”

“He’s still at his sister’s, he’s getting here later, why?” Monty was starting to look concerned.

“Because I think I’m about to get hurt.” Clarke said, edging towards the door.

“What?! What’s going on?” Monty asked, eyes darting around the empty bar. “Clarke, are you okay?”

Before she could answer, an ice-cold hand closed around her throat, slamming her backwards against the shelf full of bottles, making it rattle. The air left her lungs and she scrabbled against the hand, trying to pull it away enough that she could breath, but it was locked under her chin.

Wells leapt forward, trying to shove away whatever it was, but it didn’t work, shadows only growing larger around her, and then one tendril wrapped around Wells and sent him hurtling through the walls.

Murphy tried next and was sent out onto the street.

She kicked out at the shadows but her leg went through the air like it was nothing, all while its grip tightened around her neck. “Wh- what do you want?” She managed to croak out, pulse thrumming in her ears.

It had no mouth, so she wasn’t sure how she heard its answer, but she did.

 _PAIN_.

It pushed her harder against the shelves, and she could feel panic building, and then it suddenly let up, throwing her to the ground instead. She coughed, rolling to her knees, and it kicked her in the stomach, sending her flying into the opposite wall.

She had never been so scared in her life.

Malevolent spirits usually had their own reasons for coming back.

But she’d never met one so _senseless_ before.

All it wanted, its only desire, was to cause pain.

And as she pushed herself to her feet, she saw it tire of her, head twisting to face Monty, who was hovering worriedly, unsure what to do. She knew immediately that it was about to attack him, and he couldn’t see it well enough to get out of its way.

“Hey!” She called out. Her voice was hoarse and cracked, and she still hadn’t caught her breath. “Leave him alone. He can’t see you. That’s no fun, is it? Why don’t you pick on me instead?”

“Clarke, what are you doing?” Monty asked, frantic, and she shook her head at him.

“Come on, asshole, attack _me_.” She stuck out her chin. “What? Can’t take on a girl?”

That seemed to get its attention. It whirled around, slamming into her so hard that she hit the front window, cracking it from side to side.

“Clarke!” Monty cried out, but before he could run to her, the spirit sent tendrils through three of the bottles of whiskey next to him, sending shards of glass exploding in all directions, and Monty stumbled backwards, desperately trying to avoid them.

The figure curled over Clarke on the floor, one tendril sliding under her chin, and she wanted to throw up. Every time it touched her it made her want to scream or run or convulse out of fear. It _radiated_ menace.

Wells and Murphy were still trying to fight their way through the shadows to get to her, but it was easily holding them off, and she realised that this time she might not just end up in the hospital.

This time, it looked like the spirit was intending to finish her off.

It picked up a knife from the bar and brought it down over her, slicing a deep cut in her side. She cried out in pain, clutching at her waist, and she could _feel_ it smile.

She was going to die here.

Late afternoon on Halloween and she was going to die in the one place she’d ever felt at home.

She saw the knife coming down again and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Waiting for the inevitable pain.

She held her breath.

But it never came.

Instead, a strong hand clasped her shoulder, and then her face, and she could hear a familiar voice. “Clarke? Oh my god, Clarke, are you okay? What the hell is going on?”

She opened her eyes to find Bellamy crouching over her, worried eyes darting over her face, and she collapsed against him, relief making her eyes well up with tears. She scrabbled at his jacket, pulling him closer, and he let her, arm sliding around her neck and to her back, warming all the parts of her that the shadows had touched and sending shivers down her spine.

“Clarke?” He said again, lips brushing against her ear.

“Just don’t let go of me, okay?” She asked, a little frenzied, and gripped him tighter. “Don’t let me go.”

He nodded into the crook of her neck. “Okay. Okay, Clarke, I’m not letting go. I’m right here, okay? But what the hell just happened?”

“Evil spirit,” Monty answered for her as he reached around them to grab the broom from the cupboard. He started sweeping the glass as if what had just occurred was normal instead of one of the most terrifying things that could happen to a person.

“I figured,” Bellamy said, sitting back and looking over Clarke’s face once more. “What did it want with you?”

“Nothing. It just wanted to hurt someone.” Clarke swallowed heavily. “I just happen to be wearing a neon sign that tells ghosts that I can see them, so it latched onto me. It tried to go for Monty but I distracted it.”

“That was like stepping in front of a car for me, Clarke. I love you, but please don’t do that again.” Monty said seriously. “That was scary. All I could see were shadows blocking you from view like they turned out the lights, and I could hear you getting hurt.”

“I second that. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way like that.” Bellamy’s gaze had trailed to the blood now soaking her zombified dress, making her costume look all too real. “We need to get you to the hospital, right now.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to get to her feet, but before she could, Bellamy’s arms had swept under her, and then he was carrying her towards the door.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” He looked to Monty, “We’ll be back before the night rush. I’m not stupid enough to think I can stop Clarke from working tonight, but I am not letting her work until she gets this looked at.”

“Good call.” Monty said. “I’ll make an excuse for the mess.”

“Good luck.” Bellamy said, swinging Clarke out the door before she could complain.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, and Bellamy kept his hand on her bare knee the entire time.

Once they got there, it turned out she didn’t need stitches, but they cleaned the wound and dressed it for her and told her to change the dressings after her next shower. She listened carefully, and noticed that Bellamy seemed to be focussing even more intently, nodding solemnly at everything the doctor said.

When they got back in the car, his hand landed right back on her knee the second she was seated.

“You’re coming to mine tonight.” Bellamy said, turning onto the street. It wasn’t a question.

“Bellamy, I’m fine.”

“You could have _died_. And I wasn’t there to help,” he sounded a little desperate, and she realised he was beating himself up over it, like it was somehow his fault that a rogue spirit escaped hell and decided to attack her.

“But I’m _fine_.” Clarke repeated, putting her hand over his and curling her fingers around it, partially to emphasise her point and partially because she wanted to reassure herself.

He glanced at her. “We’re gonna talk about this after work.”

* * *

The rest of the shift was uneventful. In fact, it was the least eventful Halloween that Clarke had ever had, largely because Bellamy kept one hand on Clarke’s body at all times. His arms pressed against hers when they stood together at the bar, his fingers slid over her neck when he stepped around her, his palm settled against the hole in the back of her dress when he reached over her to grab something from the shelves.

It did _not_ go unnoticed by their coworkers. Monty just looked relieved, but Diyoza seemed to be amused by what appeared to be Bellamy’s possessiveness, and Miller kept mouthing things like _“I told you so”_ from across the bar.

It also earned Clarke some glares from female customers who had clearly shown up with the mission of getting in Bellamy’s pants and who now felt put out at his obvious affection towards Clarke the entire night. To his credit, Bellamy didn’t even notice his admirers, just smiled the way he always did as he served the drinks, elbow nudging against hers.

Once they closed, Bellamy suggested that it was Monty’s turn to mop, which was an obvious excuse for him to stay behind the bar with Clarke, but luckily Miller volunteered and Monty helped him collect glasses and ferry them back to Clarke and Bellamy while they washed up.

“Do you want to stay at mine tonight?” Monty asked her as he ducked under the bar with another tray of glasses, still looking overly concerned. “Harper’s stuck at hers cause she’s sick, but my place is disease free.”

“I’m okay, but thank you,” she pulled him into a hug, arm losing contact with Bellamy’s for a brief moment.

Bellamy responded to that by curling an arm around her waist and gently tugging her back against his side, fingers ghosting over the bandage as he did. He didn’t even look up from the washing up. “She’s staying with me.”

“Is she now?” Miller asked from where he was wiping down tables. He waggled his eyebrows in Clarke’s direction and she flipped the bird at him.

“Did you call the electrician yet?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He snorted. “I’m just saying, I’m happy for you. At least someone other than Monty is getting laid here.”

“Who said anything about getting laid?” Clarke sighed. “I just want a good night’s sleep.”

Bellamy blinked over at her. “Does that mean you’re not going to fight me on this? You’re actually going to stay at mine?”

“No. You’re coming to mine. I don’t like new places.”

She expected him to protest, but instead a reassured smile broke out over his face. “Deal.”

* * *

Clarke anticipated feeling way more awkward having Bellamy in her apartment, but the fact that he hadn’t let go of her since they left the bar really left no room for edginess.

There wasn’t much of a place to show him around, but she did her best, and he curled his arms around her, pressing his chin against her bare shoulder as she pointed out the paintings that she’d stacked in the corner of the living room, and the broken oven in the kitchen, eventually ending up in her room, where she stared at her bed for half a second, brain short-circuiting as she realised he was going to be lying in it with her all night.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Bellamy asked suddenly.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I just realised that I didn’t exactly ask… I just sort of _told_ you I wasn’t going to leave you alone. I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to control you, I just don’t want something to happen to you while I’m gone.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable.” She promised.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because if I’m bothering you-”

Bellamy didn’t finish his sentence, because Clarke had impulsively turned around and grabbed his face, yanking it down to hers.

Kissing Bellamy was even better than she expected it to be. He relaxed into her almost immediately, one hand sliding up her back and into her hair, sending chills over her skin as he did, sparking that same magic warmth all the way down to the tips of her fingers. She could get used to this.

When she pulled away he didn’t let her go far, pressing his forehead against hers. She could feel herself starting to overthink it already, even though he’d kissed her back. Always waiting to be rejected, always expecting to be told she wasn’t worth the effort. She tugged at his curls slightly. “You’re not bothering me.”

“Good. That’s good.” Bellamy’s gaze was firmly locked on her lips. “Because I _really_ want to do that again.”

And this time when he kissed her, they tumbled onto the bed, and Clarke didn’t have a lot of time for overthinking after that.

* * *

The next morning Clarke woke up and for the first time in what felt like her entire life, she wasn’t tired. She was completely content, and as she blinked her eyes open, she realised that she was pressed against something warm.

“Morning.” Bellamy said gruffly, fingers trailing over her arm.

“Morning.” She felt inexplicably shy. “Breakfast?”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m starving.”

She climbed over him and stepped out of bed, dragging a shirt and some underwear on. “You could have woken me up,” she pointed out.

“Absolutely not.” Bellamy followed her into the kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers and she began to wonder if she was actually still just dreaming. His hands landed on her hips as she started making breakfast and he watched over her shoulder. “You needed a good night’s sleep more than anyone I’ve ever met. If you think I’m waking you up just because I’m hungry, you don’t know me very well.”

She blushed. “Eggs okay?”

“You don’t like being taken care of, huh?” He asked, nosing against her cheek.

“I’m just not used to it,” she admitted, cracking the eggs despite his lack of an answer. She figured he would have said no if he didn’t want any. Her voice was very small when she added, “But it’s nice.”

She could feel his grin against her skin, and she wanted to tattoo that feeling into her chest forever.

When the eggs were done and the toast was buttered, she plated it and walked over to the table. She and Bellamy sat on opposite sides, and he dragged her chair closer and pulled her legs across his lap so that she was half sitting on him while they ate.

She laughed. “You know you don’t have to keep touching me now, right? Halloween is over, that spirit is almost definitely gone by now.”

“Who said I’m only touching you because of that?” Bellamy said, and to prove his point, his hand started climbing under her shirt, breakfast forgotten as he tilted his head to kiss her.

Later, when they were out of breath and cleaning up the remains of the cold breakfast, Bellamy let go of her for the first time, refusing to let her do the washing up.

She jumped up onto the counter and watched him, unable to stop smiling, and he kept catching her eye and beaming like everything was right in the world.

“What did I tell you?” Murphy’s voice broke through the silence. “You just needed to bone.”

“Murphy, leave them alone.” Wells said. The two of them were on the couch, Wells smiling proudly like an older brother and Murphy grinning wolfishly like the dick he was. “Just let Clarke enjoy her happiness for once.”

“I’m just saying, this is the first time I’ve been glad that your magic sexual tension made us disappear. It’s better than a sock on the door.”

“Shut up.” Clarke stuck her tongue out at him. “Nobody asked you.”

Bellamy glanced around. “Oh. Are Wells and Murphy back?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling embarrassed at having been caught talking to nothing again.

He dried his hands and turned around. “Where are they?”

“On the couch.” She pointed.

He directed his gaze that way. “Hey. Just so you know, I’m dating Clarke now. So I’ll try to be more careful of touching Clarke when you want to talk to her, but you should probably get used to disappearing, cause I don’t intend to go anywhere.”

Clarke knew she’d gone beet red, and Murphy was laughing his ass off, but when she looked over at Bellamy, he was staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and she felt her self-consciousness melt away. He leaned towards her, being careful not to touch her bare skin so that her friends didn’t vanish, but even when he was just _barely_ touching her, she could feel her pulse racing and her skin humming like it was waiting for him to get closer.

Murphy and Wells were talking, arguing over whose approval meant more to Clarke, but she could barely hear them, too lost in Bellamy’s gaze, and when he swayed closer, she broke, saying, “Sorry guys,” right before she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled.

For the first time in her life she didn’t feel like she was born under a bad sign. She didn’t feel like her misfortune was written in the stars. She finally felt like her luck was changing for the better.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween and a merry November <3


End file.
